Should've
by unfold
Summary: Of course he thought things should've been different. Lit. One parter. Another post Nag Hammadi. A sort of second part to my other story As Yet Untitled.


**A/N: This is sort of a continuation of the story I posted the other night (As Yet Untitled). But, not really. I wasn't sure so I made it its own story. This is still post Nag Hammadi. One parter, I think. But,who knows. For now, though, it's a one parter.Thanks to everyone who reviewed the last story. You're all fantastic. **

Of course he thought things should've been different. For one, he would never have waited for her to make the first move. At the time, he thought it was the right thing to do, seeing as she had a boyfriend. Seeing as she appeared almost untouchable then. It was the wrong thing to do. So much wasted time. He could've had her just a month after he arrived. He shakes his head at the thought. He isn't one for regrets. He's always been one to accept what he's done and get on with it. But, now, driving back to New York, he can't shake the feeling that things could have been so much better. Instead, everything went ridiculously wrong.

If he hadn't waited, it would've gone like this. He would've kissed her so many times the previous year. Starting with the sleigh ride, he would've kissed her then. It would be their first and it would be magical and she would be so enamored with the snow and the cold and everything that she wouldn't fight it. And he would only be concerned with the way her cheeks looked in the cold, that innocent flush. He also would've kissed her that night when he brought her food. There in the kitchen with her back pressed against the sink, his hands resting on the counter on either side of her. He would've done it just after she asked him, "You want money?" He would give her no response, just his mouth against hers. And two more times he would kiss her. In her car, before the accident, maybe even after. No, definitely after. As they put her into the ambulance, he would've bent down and kissed her lightly because she looked fragile. It would be a sort of protective thing, taking care of her. He'd kiss her in New York. On the subway, in the record store, sitting on the park bench. He'd still kiss her at Sookie's wedding. Only, it wouldn't be in the woods. Not in private. It would be at the wedding reception. He'd ask her to dance and he kiss her then, a sweet loving kiss. She would be so caught up in the feel of the wedding that she'd murmur something incomprehensible. He'd ask her what she said and she'd say, "Nothing." He wouldn't buy it. He heard her. She whispered, "I love you." And she'd mean it. None of the "I think I might have…" It would be definite, fact.

Instead, he waited for her. He gave her space, let her think things through for herself, make her own decision. He let her gradually fall out of love with Dean. He didn't force her into realizing that that's what was happening. It took too long for her to come around. He blamed her for that. Sure, he found someone else, a distraction. But, it was merely something to keep his head above water. It kept him from drowning. He spent that entire summer waiting for her, waiting to hear from her. There was no communication between them after the kiss and it tore him apart. Not knowing.

The thing is, she never would have figured it out. He knows she never would have actually chosen him. If Dean had never broken up with her, it never would have happened. She would've let it slip by. He hates her for that. He hates that she could be so passive. It's not that she actually thought she was happy with Dean. It's that she was actually afraid. Afraid of what? He doesn't know. Afraid of him, he guesses. It's a ridiculous thought. She's been in love, she's seen it. She shouldn't be afraid of new love. Him, on the other hand, he's never been in it, never tried, never wanted to have it. He should've been terrified. He wasn't. He was calm. Because she finally brought him some sort of peace. The anger inside of him seemed to subside when she was talking to him or just looking at him. Besides, there was really no time for being afraid.

So, she finally was there. She was available. He could have her. When he heard Dean say, "I'm out." He let out the largest breath. It seems he had been holding his breath since the day they met. Or, at least sometime shortly thereafter.

Even then, he thought he shouldn't make a move just yet. But, it didn't matter anymore. He was going to do what he wanted to do. So, he followed her. Found her on the bridge. One of the only people he liked in the only place he liked in that town. It was fitting and he wanted to smile. This was a serious time, though. She was upset, he could tell. Although, part of him expected her to be happy, laughing, jumping, running to him. This was his fantasy. That she'd be smiling and she'd run to him saying, "Finally. You. Finally." She wasn't.

He doesn't know why he hesitated that night. When she asked if Dean had been right in what he said. Maybe he wanted to put her through some of the agony he had been going through. Not knowing. He couldn't do it. He told her that it was true and that he had to take care of something.

That night plays out in his head more often than other nights with her. Part of the reason behind this is that she was beautiful that night. Even when she had been up for twenty-three hours and her hair was a mess and her makeup was running, she was beautiful. Exhausted, she was beautiful. And when he came back from taking care of something, the distraction, she was still there.

He didn't kiss her then. She tried, leaning in, saying, "Sorry for running last time." He stopped her with a hand on her shoulder. Even then, he thought it was stupid. This is what he wanted and it was staring him in the face, but he pushed her away. He told her, "Maybe, we should wait until tomorrow." He shivered, for effect, he supposes. "Tonight's been a little weird." She nodded, but still looked confused. She leaned in towards him once again, "I want to kiss you now. I'm miserable and I want to kiss you." To which he had replied, "It feels…wrong. You just broke up with Dean, not more than an hour ago. I feel like we should sleep on it or something. See if you still want to kiss me tomorrow."

He meant this: He wasn't entirely sure if she was thinking straight. Or if the whole break up had sent her head spinning and she needed someone to slow it down. He didn't want to have her kiss him then and wake up the next morning to realize that she didn't really want to be with him at all. Now, he was terrified. Luckily, it was already morning and tomorrow was just mere hours away.

If things had gone the way he wanted them to, she would have forced it on him. Kissed him hard on the mouth there on the bridge. She wouldn't have listened to him.

The next day she still wanted to kiss him. And he waited the entire day for it to happen. He's glad, though. She looked perfect at night with just the streetlight to illuminate her face. When his mouth had finally found hers, he didn't want to let her go. He had waited too long for this and he wasn't going to stop unless he had to. But, she pulled away and said she had to go. He didn't want to argue, he just wanted to have her mouth again.

It seemed good at first. He was happy. She was happy. Yet, he felt something lingering behind them, always. Some sort of darkness was following them around, waiting to swallow them both. Or, probably just him. The darkness would leave her alone.

It was the fact that she was never really certain. She never knew if this was what she had really wanted. He could tell from the way she acted. It turned into something else completely. It wasn't about being with him anymore. It was about proving something to everyone else. Proving that he didn't treat her badly, that he was good, that she could be happy with him. Most of the time, he didn't think she was actually happy.

He wasn't ready for her, for love. He wasn't ready to conquer something so large. He had yet to figure himself out. And when he found himself letting her down, proving them right. He left. He ran.

He almost misses the exit for 95, remembering another time he should've kissed her: On the bus that day. He should've kissed her then. On the cheek first. And then softly on the mouth, whispering, "Sorry." Not, "Goodbye." Just an apology.


End file.
